


Appoggiatura

by frostandcrow



Series: Espansivo [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (spoiler: emphasis on "try"), (you know the one), Gen, Heists-gone-wrong, Hurt/Comfort, Juno and Peter try to get closure regarding That Night, M/M, Salvaged heists, heists as a plot device to justify uncomfortable but necessary conversations, poisoned character, the most complicated of Facebook relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 18:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostandcrow/pseuds/frostandcrow
Summary: Their first heist as a team, featuring A Classic Juno Steel Plan™, insensitive art critiques, nefarious uses of biochemistry, several thousand volts of electricity, and more heart-to-heart conversations than Juno feels should be allowed.





	Appoggiatura

**Author's Note:**

> See End Notes for trigger warnings.

“Rita, what’s taking so long?” Juno asked, fingers tapping the armrest of his seat.

 

“Well, sorry boss, but this is really top-of-the-line stuff I’m having to break through and Miss Buddy made it very clear that I need to do it with them bein’ none the wiser. So, hold your horses, I’m almooooost—there! Got it! You gettin’ the images, boss?”

 

Juno looked at the tablet in his lap. The screen was sectioned into sixths with each section showing the view from one of the security cameras installed throughout the art gallery he was currently parked two blocks away from. “Yeah, got it.” He studied the images in front of him, tapping to cycle through feeds from other cameras. 

 

For a gallery that ostentatiously only housed art, there were a lot of security measures in place. There were also many more “back rooms” than one would intuitively expect. 

 

Juno brought up the six feeds that seemed most relevant and then propped the tablet onto the dashboard of the RUBY7 to allow the other current occupant to see it as well.

 

“Thank you very much Rita. I do not believe anyone in this galaxy could have completed this task more efficiently.” Jet looked over at Juno significantly. Juno rolled his eye. Rita giggled.

 

“Oh, you’re too kind, Mr Jet. Ain’t nothin’, really. Miss Vespa and I are in low orbit so let us know when you’re headin’ back!”

 

“Will do,” said Juno, ending the call. “Y’know,” he said, keeping his tone light, “if you have a thing for my secretary…”

 

“I do not. I find that openly expressing appreciation and admiration for team members and their skills builds confidence and helps with team cohesion, which optimizes our chances of success. You might consider trying this strategy.”

 

“What, stroking Rita’s ego? I tried that approach a long time ago. It was like feeding a stray cat. Now, I’m stuck with her.”

 

“And see what she’s done for you?”

 

“Helped me become immune to the smell of salmon snacks? Much like having a cat would?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Juno sighed. The big guy was no fun. “Yeah, yeah. Stop deflecting my deflection.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

They settled back into silence, Juno occasionally tapping through the various feeds, challenging himself to spot the well-disguised security personnel in an effort to stay alert and…undistracted. The gallery was starting to gather more well-dressed guests who milled about, talking in small groups or looking at the art pieces on the wall. Servers balancing trays of drinks in long, fluted glasses wove unobtrusively through the crowd. 

 

Juno tried not to spend an undue amount of time watching a particular pair of guests: one with stunningly red hair and an even more dramatic green sequined gown and the other tall, lean, and in a suit so understated it had gone full circle to “ostentatious.” 

 

Juno had seen Peter and Buddy in their gallery attire briefly before he and Jet had left to set up their position. It had taken a couple of miles of distance between them before Juno had started to breathe normally. 

 

Seeing Peter on the camera feed, tiny and amidst a growing crowd, the effect was almost as strong. 

 

He was glad that the gallery had a strict no-comms policy and that they were unable to communicate in real-time with Buddy or Peter. The last thing he needed was Peter’s voice in his ear. 

 

He mentally shook his head and switched out the feed with Peter in it with the feed of what appeared to be an empty room. Jet switched it back.

 

“We are supposed to keep Buddy and Aleph in our sight at all times,” he chided.

 

“Oh? They’re there? I didn’t think they’d arrived yet.”

 

The look Jet gave him was too knowing for Juno’s comfort. 

 

Juno cleared his throat. “So, Big Guy, if secretaries aren’t your thing…what is?”

 

“My…thing?”

 

“Yeah. Y’know. _Thing._ Who does a guy like Jet Sikuliaq go in for?”

 

“Not you.”

 

“Why does everyone think I have a thing for you?” he asked, exasperated.

 

“Do you not?”

 

“What?!? I—no! Well, maybe before,” Juno said, not having anticipated this very sudden and uncomfortable conversational direction. “Look, you cut a nice figure in a strong, tall, trench coat sort of way and, on a superficial level, that sort of works for me, but, I promise you, Big Guy, _you_ are not my type.”

 

“That is good to hear.”

 

“So…what is _your_ type?”

 

“This is not the appropriate time for this conversation, Juno.”

 

“What? I can multitask.” He tilted the screen with the camera feeds towards Jet slightly. “There are three security personnel disguised as guests,” he said, tapping the screen as he spoke, “three entrances to the gallery, each one with an additional goon, and two men dressed _exactly_ like you’d expect a security guard to dress standing at opposite corners of the gallery—mostly for show, I expect. And here is Dionysus Kent,” Juno tapped the section of the screen showing the gallery-owner-by-day-mobster-by-night sitting behind a large desk in a well-furnished office, studying a computer screen, “ who hasn’t left his office to meet with whichever terrorist of the moment would like to get their hands on the data chip full of blackmail, security codes, and whatever else it takes to topple the one functioning government in the Outer Rim. Meanwhile, that chip remains hidden in the frame of something that can only be called art due to its amazing demonstration of how awful green and beige can look together, artfully evoking my upchuck reflex.”

 

There was silence for a moment.

 

“There are four personnel disguised as guests.”

 

Juno studied the feed from the gallery for a moment. “Oh, you mean this guy?” Juno asked, pointing at a man in a vivid bright blue gown on the screen. “Nah, he’s shifty because he’s avoiding _this_ woman,” his finger moved to tap at a guest in a jet black three-piece suit on the opposite side of the gallery. “His movements have been calculated to keep himself at the polar opposite side of the gallery from her all evening. It’s the classic oh-my-god-what-is-my-ex-doing-here dance.”

 

“I see. Very perspicacious.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s easy to recognize because it’s the only dance I know. So, now that you see that I can be professional while digging into your personal business, you gonna answer the question or not?”

 

“I am not.”

 

Juno huffed out a sigh. “Fine.”

 

“Though, now that you have informed me of the existence of this peculiar dance of yours, I cannot help but make a retrospective observation.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Our ship is not very large, nor does it have many rooms that a person is likely to frequent—”

 

“Oh, no. Nope. We’re not going there.”

 

“—and that I have rarely seen you and Aleph in the same room since we left Mars seems unlikely to be a coincidence.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not having this conversation.”

 

“In that case, I think you were wrong a minute ago.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your metaphorical dancing abilities. Clearly, they extend to skillful dancing-around-the-issue as well.”

 

“Ha ha,” Juno said, sarcastically. “The big guy can make a joke.”

 

“As I have told you before, Juno. I can be quite funny.”

 

“Only at my expense, it seems,” he grumbled under his breath. 

 

“It…” Jet began, and then stopped.

 

Given the current topic of conversation, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Jet had to say. On the other hand, he had never heard the guy hesitate like this before. Looking over at Jet, Juno noted that he actually looked a bit uncomfortable. “Yeah?” Juno asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

 

“It is probably not my place to say, but…I have known Aleph Archon for many years and as many names. We have worked many jobs together and I consider him to be one of my staunchest allies. I cannot say that I know him well—he is a man of many secrets and I respect that.”

 

“What are you getting at, Big Guy?”

 

“Please, Juno. Do not interrupt. I…am trying to decide how much I should tell you. I do not want to betray his trust in me.”

 

Juno felt his heart race in his chest. He stared numbly at the security feeds in front of him, unseeing. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what Jet had to say about Nureyev.

 

After a moment of contemplation, Jet continued, “I worked a job with Aleph several months ago—he went by the name ‘Augustus’ at the time—and, based on how much thinner and more withdrawn he was compared to the last time I had seen him, I assumed he had suffered from a terrible ordeal. He did not disclose any details of any ordeal to me and I did not ask. He did, however, mention a Marsian private detective whom he believe had a skill-set that would be of interest to Buddy, given her renewed interest in a life of heists and cons.”

 

He paused for a minute, letting Juno digest the information, before continuing, “That information was the reason I surveilled you when you worked for Ramses O’Flaherty. I did not question how Augustus had learned about you. But now, living in close quarters with the two of you, it is clear to me that you two share more than just a passing acquaintance—“

 

“—Look, Big Guy—“

 

“—and that there is clearly an issue that remains unresolved between the two of you. Now, I will prefer to speak no more on this issue.”

 

Juno gaped at him. “Wha—you tell me all of that and then expect me to just, what, drop it?”

 

“Like I said, I will speak no more on this issue.  It is between you and Aleph.”

 

“But—argh! Fine. Whatever. Just…it’s nothing, alright? What’s done is done and in the past. I…made a bad decision that I regret—one in a long line of bad decisions and regrets—but…I’m learning to…forgive myself,” he couldn’t prevent his mouth from twisting those two words, “and to move on. But…it’s not fair to the people I’ve hurt to expect them to give me a second chance as well.”

 

“As I said, I will speak no more on this issue. But, I will leave you with this thought: self-sacrifice is not always a noble action.”

 

“Great. More unsolicited, cryptic-as-hell advice. Thanks, Big Guy.”

 

“You are welcome.”

 

“Something is going on.”

 

“Yes, I suspected, but I thought I made it clear that I will speak no more on this issue.”

 

“No, not that. Look, here,” Juno tapped at the feed for the gallery’s small kitchen. Dionysus Kent, the man who ostensibly owned the gallery that doubled as a venue for black market deals, had left his office and made his way to the kitchen via its back door. He appeared to be talking to one of the wait-staff.

 

“What are you seeing?”

 

“It was quick, but, it looked like he…handed the waiter something?”

 

“Well, he is leaving now. Perhaps he is on his way to meet the buyer.”

 

“Maybe. I don’t think…Aleph…has been able to remove the data chip from the frame yet.”

 

“Not yet. But Buddy has just completed her role.” They watched as Buddy withdrew her hand from the grasp of another guest—who had just finished a gallant kiss to the back of Buddy’s hand—smiled, and walked away. 

 

About fifteen seconds later, all eyes except seven went to that gallant woman as she collapsed onto the floor. 

 

Juno and Jet watched as Peter walked quickly but unobtrusively towards the green-and-beige painting. Dionysus, ignoring the commotion behind him, walked towards Peter. 

 

“Something’s…not right.” Juno muttered.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I think…” but by this point, Dionysus had intercepted Peter. “Do you think he’s on to him?”

 

“I am not sure. It looks like they are merely talking.” Jet tapped the screen to isolate and enlarge the feed for the main gallery. Dionysus stood with Peter, mere feet away from the painting, fluted glass in one hand and Peter’s elbow in the other. With the feed enlarged, Juno could make out the gallery owner’s flirtatious smile and his thumb rubbing the material under it suggestively.

 

He felt slightly numb as he watched Peter lean into the touch and smile charmingly back. 

 

Then, realization slammed into him.

 

“Wait, hang on,” said Juno, quickly tapping the screen to minimize the gallery camera feed and to allow him to see six feeds at once. Or at least, he attempted to. “Goddammit, why are these so _complicated._ ”

 

“Here, let me. What are you trying to do?”

 

“I’m trying to find that server. The one that Dionysus was chatting with a minute ago—wait, there he is!” The man was loitering in the kitchen, looking out the window every couple of seconds. 

It looked like he was merely skiving off and was checking outside to make sure no one caught on. 

 

Then, as if reacting to some sign or signal, he suddenly picked up his tray and returned to the gallery, but not in the slow, wandering way of most servers. Rather, he made a beeline towards Peter and Dionysus. 

 

Notably, his tray held only one fluted glass. 

 

Juno flung the car door open. “They’re on to him.”

 

“Juno, wait a minute. What do you mean?”

 

“What do I mean? I don’t think I can make it any clearer, Big Guy. Aleph’s been made. I don’t know what tipped them off, but I _do_ know that that glass contains more than just alcohol.” Juno adjusted the blaster in its holster before looking back at Jet. “You stay here and wait for my call. There’s a good chance we’re going to need a quick getaway.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Just…just watch the feed!” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran towards the gallery. 

 

He kept to the shadows as he ran, stopping behind a bush with a good view of the gallery’s front doors, heart racing from more than just the run. 

 

It didn’t take a large deductive leap to anticipate what would happen next. Or rather, it didn't take a large deductive leap to anticipate how a mob boss would take care of unwanted guests at his very public event. 

 

Sure enough, after several minutes, he watched as Peter and Buddy exited through the front doors. They made a convincing portrayal of a couple who had decided that they had seen enough art for the evening. Buddy brushed off the doorman’s solicitation—Juno couldn’t hear the conversation from where he crouched, but he suspected it was an offer to summon them a ride—and walked sedately down the steps and onto the sidewalk, arm-in-arm. It was only after they had turned the corner down the alley that ran between the gallery and the building next to it that Juno saw Peter stagger and Buddy guide him to lean against the wall. 

 

Juno stayed where he was, his position allowing him to keep an eye on his companions and the door to the gallery simultaneously. However, the threat didn’t come from within the gallery. Juno watched as the doorman who’d spoken to the pair held his hand up to his ear as if listening to his comms, responded, and then drew his blaster as he followed the path Peter and Buddy had taken.

 

Juno leapt up and ran as quietly as he could towards the alley, drawing his blaster as he ran. 

 

The doorman turned the corner and raised his blaster to fire.

 

Juno fired first. 

 

Buddy and Nureyev jumped at the sound, eyes wide as they saw the armed doorman. The doorman, confused and unharmed—Juno’s shot having gone wide—whirled around as well, which was his mistake. In that split second of confusion, Buddy planted a small knife into his neck and he slumped to the ground. Buddy deftly avoided getting blood on her evening gown.

 

“I thought…no weapons were…allowed in the gallery,” Juno panted as he stepped over the body to join them.

 

“Please, darling, I’m sure that was merely a suggestion. And, not that we’re not grateful, but where did you come from?”

 

“I got the impression that your cover was blown. And, given Dionysus’ reputation, I’m pretty sure he had ways of making sure you would never be a problem again.” He turned to look at Peter, who looked as if the wall was the only thing holding him up, “I saw them slip something into your drink.”

 

“Yes, I had assumed as much—“ he clenched his eyes tightly and grabbed his chest for a second before taking a few deep breaths. “I…didn’t have any choice but to drink it.”

 

Juno crept back to the entry of the alley to ensure that there would be no reinforcements from the gallery. “I thought you’d be immune to peer pressure.”

 

“Well, I had held out hope that my cover…could remain intact…”

 

“Sit down,” Buddy coaxed, helping him slide to the ground. As she did this, Juno dug his comms out of his pocket and spoke briefly to Jet, informing him of their location. This finished, he returned to Peter’s side, keeping his one eye on the alley’s entry point and one hand on his blaster. “His heart rate is slow,” Buddy said lowly to Juno, “We need to get him to Vespa right away.”

 

Buddy and Juno looked up as the RUBY7 pulled into the alley. Jet made his way over to their group.

 

“What is the situation?”

 

“Aleph’s been poisoned.”

 

“I see. Do we know the identity of the poison?”

 

“Not explicitly,” said Buddy from where she was crouched, fingers remaining over Peter’s radial pulse. “His pulse is slow and weak and his fingers are cold and clammy. My bet is on a cardiac glycoside or a derivative thereof. He didn’t consume much of it, so whatever it is, it must be quite potent to have acted so quickly.”

 

“Reminds me…of…Volubi—argh!” 

 

“Whoa. Take it easy,” Juno placed his hand on Peter’s thigh. He felt the muscles under his hand spasm.

 

“We must get him back to the ship immediately,” said Jet, calmly. He gently nudged Juno to the side, and lifted Peter into his arms. 

 

“But…the data chip…”

 

“Don’t worry, darling, we can think of another plan once we’re back on the ship.”

 

“No!” he started to struggle in Jet’s grip, “We’re here. We were…so close!” He looked at Juno, his eyes still so bright despite the growing pallor of his face. “An entire…planet…needs us…”

 

Jet readjusted his grip and started to walk towards the car. “Please, stay still, Aleph.”

 

“Juno!”

 

Juno growled in frustration. The thought of letting Peter out of his sight was an almost intolerable one. But, it wouldn’t take three people to get Peter back to the ship—hell, with the RUBY7, they probably didn’t need anyone to accompany him. The damn car could probably do CPR if required. And, Peter did have a point: failure to steal the data drive from those after it would seal the fate of an entire planet. 

 

That’s when an idea came to him. 

 

It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but…it was what they needed to do. And, dammit, he had been naive to assume that it would be easier to balance personal desire with perceived obligations after his epiphany in Newtown.

 

“Guys, I have an idea. Big Guy, you can get the RUBY7 to take Aleph back to the ship by itself, right?”

 

“Yes, but—“

 

“Look, Aleph has a point. We _need_ to get that data disk. We’re already here and…I think I have a plan.” 

 

“Juno.” Despite herculean effort, he couldn’t help but look at Peter, now sitting in the passenger-side front seat. His expression was…well, it was an expression that made Juno’s stomach do funny things. 

 

Buddy considered, briefly. “I suppose you have a point, Juno.” She turned towards Peter. “Aleph, darling, one of us can go with you—“

 

“No, Buddy, I…think whatever brilliant plan our detective has…it will need everyone here.”

 

Buddy paused, also torn.

 

“Buddy,” said Jet from where he was currently programming the car to return to the ship, “time is of the essence. For Aleph’s sake, we cannot delay any further.”

 

“Fine. I’ll call Vespa to let her know that you’re on your way.”

 

The RUBY7 beeped and a drawer in front of Peter sprung open. It appeared to contain a syringe. Peter, squinted at its label before uncapping it and injecting it into his neck. 

 

Jet gently removed the empty syringe from Peter’s hand and read the label as well. “Huh, atropine. It looks like the RUBY7 has the situation under control.” He got out of the driver’s seat, shut the door, and gave the top of the car a fond pat as it reversed out of the alley and shot into the night sky.

 

The trio watched it go for a moment.

 

“So, Juno. You were saying something about a plan?”

 

———————————————————————————————————

 

The event was back in full swing after the sudden collapse of one of the guests. She had merely lost consciousness for a moment and had awoken quickly without any evidence of further illness or injury. She was uncertain what had happened, but, for some reason, when she tried to determine what may have caused her uncharacteristic fainting spell, she could only remember a particularly vivid shade of red.

 

As far as dramatic incidents went, it was hardly enough to sustain gallery attention for more than a few minutes.

 

None of the guests seemed to have noticed that a second person—a tall, lean man in an elegant suit—had been poisoned just after the first, though with a less dramatic and more deadly concoction. Nor did his quick exit, arm-in-arm with his companion, gather undue attention. 

 

Similarly, very few paid any mind to the man who was now weaving his way through the mingling guests and who was wearing a black security uniform that was two sizes too big. They probably would have noticed the still-wet blood that drenched the left shoulder of the jacket had the uniform not been black. 

 

Most of them, however, did notice when the man walked right up to a large portrait—a popular debate amongst the guests for the evening had been whether the central figure was meant to portray an avocado or the current president of Earth—plucked it from the wall, and started to make his way back to the front door. 

 

The rest of the crowd—those too dense or too drunk to have noticed the picture’s removal—caught on when the alarms started to blare.

 

“Freeze!” said one of the guards. His uniform was less bloodied and of a much better fit.

 

“Well, shoot,” said the thief, backing up towards a wall and keeping the alleged piece of art between him and the guard. “You caught me.”

 

“Put the painting down, get on your knees, and put your hands on your head!” Other guards, some of which had been disguised as guests, had quickly joined the first and formed a semi-circle around the man, trapping him against the wall. The genuine guests moved quickly to the other side of the room, trying to get out of the way.

 

“I would love to, I really would. But then I’m petty sure you’d shoot me, so I’m not sure what’s in it for me.”

 

“Look here—“

 

A clear voice cut the guard off, “It’s optimistic of you to assume you won’t be shot regardless.” The voice’s owner stepped out from the other guests, confidently striding towards the current stand off. Juno recognized him from the camera feed. 

 

“Yeah, well, that’s a problem for future-me. Present-me knows that your guards won’t fire into a piece marked for…” he rearranged his hold on the frame so he could free one hand to grab the price tag, “…five million creds? Really? I wish I could say that anyone could have painted this, but it takes a real genius to achieve something of absolutely no artistic value.”

 

He heard an outraged gasp from somewhere in the crowd. 

 

He spent half a second hoping that maybe he’d just done the universe a favor—that the creator would either find a better art instructor or look for a new hobby and stop inflicting his art attempts on innocent beings—before returning his full attention to the mobster in the very nice suit who had stopped several feet shy of the guards’ semi-circle. “And yet, you’re trying to steal it,” he said, words whiskey smooth and utterly composed.

 

“Is that what I’m trying to do?”

 

“You’re right. I think ‘trying’ is a bit generous. You do get credit for the sheer audacity it takes to think that disguising yourself as one of my guards would keep anyone from questioning you walking out with my art. I can’t imagine the balls on you.”

 

“Oh, why leave something like that to the imagination, handsome.” Juno, no longer able to wink effectively, resorted to running his gaze up and down Dionysus’ body in the most obvious leer he could manage.

 

Dionysus merely rolled his eyes, seeming to grow bored with the spectacle in front of him. “Guards?”

 

The guards re-aimed their guns.

 

“Hey!” Shouted Juno, ducking further behind the framed picture in his hands, “This might surprise you, but I’m pretty sure I’m not worth five million creds.”

 

“Of that, there is no doubt. Lucky for me, I don’t think taser fire will do much harm to an inert picture.”

 

Juno, belatedly realizing that he had miscalculated by assuming the guards were armed with blasters rather than tasers, glanced over the top of the frame. The relief he felt at seeing a large man creeping up quietly behind Dionysus was short-lived as Dionysus said, “Fire at will.”

 

Several things happened very quickly after that, but Juno was only aware of the literal shock of several thousand volts racing through his body before everything went dark.

 

—————————————————————————————

 

He floated for a while mostly in silence, which was occasionally interrupted by the occasional soft groan. The floating was…not nice, precisely but…it was peaceful.

 

He jolted into awareness as whatever he was on stopped moving. 

 

“Gah!”

 

“Are you awake, Juno?”

 

Juno managed to turn his head to see Jet sitting in what appeared to be a driver’s seat. “What gave it away,” he asked, sarcasm somewhat mitigated by the mildly slurred words.

 

“Well, to be honest, darling, you’ve been making unusual noises for most of our journey,” came a voice from the back seat. Juno clumsily turned around; there was Buddy, sitting as calmly and elegantly as if she were being chauffeured to an opera. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, her right holding a blaster that was aimed…

 

“…huh,” Juno said, having turned around further, causing his back to pop loudly. “I guess our exit strategy worked.” He was happy to hear that his speech was clearer. 

 

“You could say that,” replied Buddy. “Though, ‘worked’ is a generous term. _You_ weren’t in charge of carrying anyone’s unconscious body.”

 

“You wouldn’t have had to carry him,” he nodded at Dionysus’ unconscious form, “if you had waited to stun him _after_ you got him into the car,” Juno said. He felt a not-small amount of vindictive pleasure at the fact that Dionysus—unconscious and being used as a hostage of sort—had gotten a taste of his own medicine, so to speak. 

 

“We did. _I_ still had to carry _your_ unconscious body out. Had everything gone to plan, we could have _all_ walked out.”

 

Juno, muscles starting to ache, turned back around to slump into his seat. “Yeah, well, _sorry_ that I got to relive the experience of sticking a fork in a toaster.”

 

“You must have had an interesting childhood,” said Jet. 

 

“What? No, I didn’t own a toaster until I was twenty-seven.”

 

“That is the least surprising thing I’ve heard all night,” Jet replied, getting out of the car.

 

Looking around, Juno noted that they appeared to be in a field. “Where are we?”

 

Jet opened the door behind Juno, “We are in a field.”

 

“Yeah, I see that. _Why_ are we in a field?”

 

Buddy also opened her door and got out. “Well, Juno, unless you think that our crew could use another member—though I doubt he’d be a willing one—we should probably drop him off before leaving this planet.”

 

“But…in the middle of a field?” He watched in his side-view mirror as Jet leaned in to lift the unconscious mobster out of the back seat and then place him gently on the ground a couple of feet away.

 

Buddy, walking around the back of the car replied, “Are you suddenly having sympathy for the man who ordered his men to see how many volts they could run through you?” She joined Jet in standing over the man, fiddled with a comms unit for a moment, and then laid it on the man’s belly.

 

Juno, his chest still aching with every breath he took, supposed she had a point. 

 

Jet and Buddy returned to the car and they traveled back to the ship in silence for a bit. Juno was just starting to nod off when Buddy spoke again. “Though, to be clear, after poisoning one of my crew and electrocuting another, he’s lucky that I’m leaving him with a comms unit so his goons can eventually find him.”

 

—————————————————————————————————

 

The next day found Juno in one of the ship’s cargo holds, which he had turned into a makeshift shooting range using low-powered laser cartridges. He’d slept poorly after returning to the ship the night before and his muscles still ached, but the meditative, zen-like state he achieved through focusing on the single-minded task of aiming and firing his blaster helped him feel somewhat restored. 

 

He heard the door behind him open.

 

“Hmm, not bad,” said Buddy, coming to stand in his peripheral vision.

 

“Thanks. Half the time, I actually hit the paper.” He raise his blaster quickly and fired off three more shots in quick succession. He then lowered his gun, clicked the safety on, and removed the laser cartridge before setting it down on the table at his side and walking across the bay to inspect his target. 

 

His grouping was nowhere near as tight as it had been before losing his eye, but despite what he had told Buddy, most of the shots appeared to have actually hit the paper and a decent amount of those had landed within the outlined silhouette of a person.

 

He walked back to where Buddy sat perched on the table near his gun. 

 

“Did you want something?” 

 

“Just a moment of you time, darling.”

 

Juno leaned his hip against the table, facing her. “Sure, what’s up?”

 

“I…wanted to apologize.”

 

“Apologize?”

 

“Yes. I made a comment yesterday evening that I believe could have been construed as unfairly accusatory.”

 

Juno rapidly replayed the events of yesterday’s heist in his mind. “A comment…to me?” he asked after a minute.

 

“That _is_ why I’m mentioning it to you.”

 

“Sorry, Buddy, but you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

 

“Yes, I thought I might,” she sighed, mostly to herself. She then looked Juno square in the eye, “Juno, my comment regarding you being shocked unconscious and me having to carry you out of the gallery…I just wanted to be clear that, had Jet and I acted more quickly, that could have been prevented. What happened to you, that was not your fault.”

 

Juno looked down at his shoes. “I dunno, Buddy, I baited him pretty aggressively.”

 

“Darling, is this your first time working with a team?”

 

He shrugged, “More or less.” 

 

“Juno, look at me,” she said gently though firmly. She waited until he complied before continuing, “You need to know that I don’t employ deadweight. Yesterday, you salvaged our mission. If it hadn’t been for your quick and, to be honest, out-of-the-box thinking, the data chip would not be in our possession and the citizens of Phosphic Five would very likely have their newly established freedom dismantled within the next month. I owe you gratitude. I also owe you the promise that, in the future, I will act more quickly to ensure the safety of my crew during our missions. That’s what it means to work within a team, Juno. I have your back. You have mine. I promise, I’ll do a better job, next time.”

 

Juno, gut-punched, couldn’t think of a response. He wasn’t sure if the tightening in his throat would have allowed for speech at that moment anyway.

 

He felt a warm hand grasp his upper arm and squeeze gently before dropping away as Buddy made her exit.

 

Juno stayed leaning against the table, motionless, for quite a while after she left.

————————————————————————————

 

It didn’t take firsthand experience to anticipate the difficulties in maintaining one’s circadian rhythm while moving through the lightless depths of space. As he had never successfully been able to adhere to a normal sleep schedule while living on a planet with regular diurnal hours, it was no surprise that Juno found himself awake long after his crewmates had gone to bed. 

 

However, much like nights on Mars, he found that he enjoyed the relative quiet and solitude this afforded him. It had been a long, long time since he had last cohabited with anyone else and he appreciated his time alone in the dimly lit common areas.

 

Juno sat at the kitchen table, several hours after dinner, looking over the history of Phosphic Five—a planet on the Outer Rim that received little attention in the Marsian high school curriculum, so Juno forgave himself for not paying more attention in school as, in this case, it probably wouldn’t have paid off anyway.

 

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone else would be up,” came a voice in the doorway, jolting him from his reading. 

 

“Geez, Nur—Aleph. Way to sneak up on a lady,” he said, heart racing. He hadn’t realized just how immersed he had been in his reading. In an effort to hide his fluster, he said, “I didn’t know Vespa had released you from the sick bay.”

 

“That’s because she didn’t,” came the breezy reply. He walked stiffly into the kitchen and started to root around in one of the cabinets.

 

“Well, I guess that explains the wardrobe.”

 

Peter stopped his search and met Juno’s eye briefly over the kitchen bar before looking down at the medical gown he was wearing. “Yes, well, my quarters are in the opposite direction from the infirmary and I decided that what little energy I’ve been able to reclaim would be better spent making a cup of tea than ensuring I have proper trousers.” 

 

“I’m sure Vespa would have gotten you tea.”

 

“That’s likely, but Buddy made her leave the infirmary to get some sleep.”

 

“What, and leave you alone? I’m surprised she finds you that trustworthy.”

 

“Not at all,” Peter looked up from where he was dialing instructions into the food dispenser, “Jet took over for her, but he sleeps much more soundly than she does and I couldn’t bear the thought of waking him just for tea.” He smirked slightly and added, “After all, he makes _dreadful_ tea.”

 

Juno snorted, despite himself. “Yeah, I know.”

 

Peter resumed the process of making his tea and Juno went back to reading—or, more accurately, staring blankly at the page in front of him fighting the urge to find a reason to excuse himself, yesterday’s conversation with Jet tugging at his thoughts.

 

“Before he dropped off to sleep,” Peter said conversationally, breaking the silence, “Jet told me a bit about what happened after I was…indisposed.”

 

“Did he mention my brief career as a conductor?”

 

“Of electricity? Yes, he did. How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been tasered.” 

 

Nureyev hummed, neutrally, then continued, “Actually, what caught my attention was the plan itself. Did you really walk right up to a painting worth five million creds, pluck it from the wall, and then try to walk nonchalantly off with it?”

 

Juno shrugged. “Given how ugly the thing was, I was pretty relieved that they did stop me. Also, the plan depended on them being distracted by me, so, I guess I’m glad for that reason as well.”

 

Peter laughed, lightly, and placed a tea bag in the steaming mug, dunking it in and out gently for a bit before searching through the cabinets again.

 

Juno looked back down at his reading, listening to the sounds of Nureyev working in the kitchen. Despite his distaste for the stuff, he absently wished for some tea as well, if only to help combat his sudden case of dry mouth. 

 

Before Juno could work up the courage—and saliva—to say anything, Peter said, “I’m surprised you’re still here.” He picked up his steaming mug and started to walk towards the table Juno was sitting at.

 

“What, with the crew? I didn’t think our last job went that badly,” he replied lightly and immediately regretted the deflection. Dammit, he was supposed to stop running away.

 

“No, I meant in this room—ah!” Juno looked up to find that Peter had set his tea on the counter and was gripping his thigh, eyes tightly closed.

 

Juno rushed over to his side. “Nureyev?”

 

Peter opened one eye and gasped out, “Who?”

 

“Oh, goddammit, fine. _Aleph_ , what’s wrong?”

 

“It’s—” his jaw clenched briefly before he resumed, “—cramps. Lingering effect…from the toxin.”

 

“Hang on, I’m gonna go grab Vespa—“

 

“No!” Peter grabbed Juno’s arm. “It’ll pass. I’m fine.”

 

“Hey, that’s my lie.”

 

Peter straightened slowly, Juno keeping a hand on his arm to help steady him. “I think you mean ‘line.’”

 

Juno pretended to consider. “No, I’m pretty sure I had it right.” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitched upwards. He then looked over at his arm where Juno was still grasping it. 

 

Juno jerked his hand back, as if burned. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You gonna be able to make it to a chair?”

 

“Yes, I think so.” 

 

Juno retrieved the still steaming mug while Peter walked gingerly to the table and sat down heavily into the chair across from the one Juno had been sitting at. 

 

“Thank you,” Peter murmured as Juno placed the tea in front of him and retook his seat. He took a small sip.

 

Juno drummed his fingers on the table and then, before he could talk himself out of it, said, “I…didn’t want to be unfair to you.”

 

Peter looked confused, so Juno clarified, “What you were saying about me running away from whatever room you happen to be in, I…” he paused, trying to sort the turmoil of his thoughts into words.

 

“Juno,” Peter broke in gently, “You don’t need to justify your actions to me. I…shouldn’t have said anything.” 

 

Juno looked up. Peter had his hands clasped around his mug and was staring into its depths with a closed-off expression on his face.

 

Guilt clenched in his gut. “No, Nureyev, I owe you an explanation—“

 

“An apology, maybe,” cut in Peter, voice steely. Then, softening, “But not necessarily an explanation.”

 

“I…what?”

 

Peter sighed and then took another sip of his tea. He placed the mug down delicately, clasped his hands together, and then, finally, met Juno’s eye. “We need to talk about what happened in that hotel room, if only for the closure it will take for us to forgive each other—“ he held his hand up to forestall Juno’s interruption. “Please, let me finish. We need to talk, Juno, but it was wrong of me to corner you just now in order to have that conversation. I had promised myself that I would not force any decision onto you. Not again.”

 

Juno’s mind felt like the engine of Mick’s bike after one of the many times a gear had slipped. “So…I owe you an apology but not an explanation?”

 

“Yes, and not necessarily tonight.” He pushed his chair back, as if to stand. “Sleep well, Detective. I will see you in the morning. Or rather, later in the morning, assuming Vespa—“

 

“Wait. Nu—Aleph. I think…we should talk about this now.”

 

Peter studied him for a moment before lowering himself back into this chair. “Well then. Only if you’re sure?”

 

“Now’s as good a time as any.”

 

“Juno.”

 

“Yes, fine, I’m sure.”

 

“Alright then,” Peter clasped his hands again. “I suppose it’s only fair that I start. Juno, I forced an ultimatum on you that night. I didn’t realize it at the time, nor did I consider that asking such a thing of you immediately after weeks of torture was, quite frankly, reprehensible.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “I have my justification for doing so, but when viewed in this light, it hardly amounts to anything of substance and certainly cheapens the value of any apology.” He took a deep breath and then said, solemnly, “Juno, I _am_ sorry for what I did and I can’t imagine being put into the position that I put you in.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, Peter staring at his hands and Juno waiting for his chest to unclench.

 

“Peter, it…it wasn’t what you said, or your ultimatum, or whatever. I…what I did to you, just, leaving like I did…I was messed up long before Miasma got into my head,” he chuckled bitterly and added, “With all the other shit that’s up there, I’m actually surprised she found space to worm into.”

 

Nureyev made a pained noise, but didn’t interrupt further.

 

“Looking back on it, I can honestly say that I’m sorry for leaving like I did. At the time, waking you up to just…talk about it, talk about what was going on in my head…it just never occurred to me, you know? I think, at the time, I justified it by convincing myself that you’d be better off without me, that I’d only drag you down, eventually make you miserable and…come to hate me. I did what I thought was best for you and I now realize that I was only running away.” He felt his mouth twist into a sardonic grin, “Just like I’ve been doing this past week, I suppose.”

 

“Detective, while we’re being honest, I think that makes two of us.”

 

“I sort of suspected.” They both grinned, slightly. Then, sobering, he met Peter’s eyes and said, “Peter. I am so, _so_ sorry for hurting you.”

 

Peter nodded and then dropped his gaze. They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, a silence that was nearly comfortable, the tension from earlier mostly dissipated. 

 

“Just so you know, I honestly don’t hold anything against you,” said Juno. “Our entire situation could have been avoided if I had just _talked_ to you.”

 

Peter sighed and said softly, “That’s what I was worried that you would believe.”

 

“What?”

 

Peter shook his head, as if to himself, and then said, “Juno, your logic is sound but superficial and missing the point.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Hypothetically, what would you have done if I had told you that I intended to stay in Hyperion City with you?”

 

“Before or after I questioned your sanity and taste in cities?”

 

“Juno,” Peter said, firmly.

 

“Fine. I…I don’t know.”

 

“Would you have felt that same pressure that caused you to walk out on me?”

 

“Look, Nureyev, I don’t know and I don’t see the point of this,” Juno said, feeling his frustration rising.

 

“Then allow me to simplify. There were two people in that room, both of whom acted in a way that hurt the other.” Peter waited for Juno to meet his eyes and then continued, more gently, “You have to see that assuming that the causality of events is due to one isolated action is an insult to the complexity and intricacy of our reality. Yes, you walked out on me, which caused me pain, but I fear I put you into an unfair position that pressured you into that action. Yes, you made the decision to leave rather than wake me to discuss your decision, but I suspect that was in part related to the fact that I acted in a way that caused you to not be able to trust my ability to have that conversation with you. Surely you must see how preposterous it is to attempt to isolate and assign blame to a single action on your part.”

 

Juno remained silent for a moment, digesting what Peter had said, turning it over in his mind and examining his argument for flaws. Of course all events, actions, and decisions were interwoven, but, surely the _magnitude_ of certain actions was something to consider. For example, the man who takes his frustrations out on his spouse after arriving home from a stressful day at work is _much_ more at fault for that action than the coworker who caused those frustrations in the first place. 

 

Somehow, he doubted Peter would agree with that assessment. And, given how worn he looked and the fact that this argument was’t the point of their current conversation anyway, Juno reflexively reached for the first facetious comment that came to mind. “I thought you were going to simplify it.”

 

Peter sighed. “Juno, I understand that I may have lost my right to ask this of you, but could you possibly just trust me when I say that I, too, was at fault?”

 

“Yeah,” Juno said, after a moment. He cleared his throat. “Sure.”

 

Peter looked at his face closely, expression remaining neutral. “Thank you,” he said softly, after a moment.

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

“Now, I fear, my dear Detective, that I shall need to retire to bed.” He placed his palms on the table to push himself up. 

 

Then he sat right back down.

 

“Are…you okay?”

 

“Yes, Juno. I’m fine. My legs feel a bit weak, but I’m sure it shall pass.”

 

Juno, master at underreporting his own ailments, snorted. “Yeah, sure. Probably after a few more days of bedrest, like Vespa suggested.” Juno stood and walked around the table to Peter’s side.

 

“I think ‘suggested’ is a too mild a word for it,” Peter replied, accepting Juno’s offer to help him back to his feet. “And I can rest just as well in my own quarters.”

 

“Uh-huh—oof!”

 

“I’m so sorry, Detective.” Peter maneuvered his legs so that the majority of his weight shifted from Juno back to them. “There, that’s better. Thank you for your assistance. I’m sure I can make it back on my own.”

 

Juno grabbed Nureyev’s wrist to keep his arm slung over Juno’s shoulders. “Well, I’m not. C’mon, I’ll walk you back.” 

 

“Why, how gallant.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. If Vespa discovers you passed out in the hallway, I’m pretty sure she’d come after me right after she dealt with you.”

 

They made their way down the hall, Juno steadily taking more of Peter’s weight. 

 

They stopped in front of a door.

 

“Thank you Juno, I—wait. This isn’t my room.”

 

“It is for the near future,” Juno replied, pushing the button to open the door. “Have I mentioned that Vespa scares the shi—AAH!”

 

“Oh. There you are, Aleph. Juno, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, fine. Just having a minor cardiac arrest, Big Guy. No big deal. Were you standing right behind the door this whole time just waiting surprise me to death?”

 

“No. I had just awoken and discovered that Aleph was no longer in his bed, therefore I was going to leave the infirmary to find him. You being at the door when it opened was entirely a coincidence.” He looked over at Peter, arm still draped over Juno’s shoulder. “I must be honest with you, Aleph: I do not appreciate you leaving the infirmary during my watch.”

 

“I’m sorry, Jet. I wanted a cup of tea and didn’t want to wake you.” 

 

“I see. In the future, I request that you wake me up. You should not be out of bed.”

 

“Yes, I’ve been told. Juno, thank you for assisting me,” Peter said, removing his arm from Juno’s shoulders, “I think I can make it the rest of the way on my own.”

 

Juno tried not to think about how he missed that warm weight at his side and watched as Peter limped into the infirmary, Jet hovering at his shoulder. “I vote no one mention this to Vespa in the morning.”

 

“I do not condone dishonesty,” Jet replied, helping Peter back into the bed, “But…if she does not ask, I will say nothing.”

 

“Then let us hope she has an uncharacteristic bout of obliviousness tomorrow,” Peter agreed, settling back into the pillows.

 

Juno lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, noting that Peter’s complexion did not appear as washed out in the dimmer lighting of the infirmary. “Well, I’ll see you later, I guess.” He hoped he didn’t sound as awkward as thought. 

 

“Certainly. Good night, Juno.” There wasn’t the slightest trace of awkward hesitance to Peter’s speech. Juno wondered how he managed that. 

 

“‘Night, Aleph. ‘Night, Jet.”

 

“Goodnight, Juno. Rest well,” said Jet. 

 

Juno walked back to his quarters, stood before his closed door for a few seconds before coming to a conclusion and walking back to the kitchen.

 

He doubted he would get any sleep that night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for:  
> —Surreptitious poisoning of drinks  
> —Hypothetical reference to domestic violence  
> —Kidnapping  
> —Abandoning an unconscious person in an isolated area (though with means to return home)
> 
> PLEASE let me know if there are any other warnings that I should add.
> 
> If you’re interested in learning more about my fear of intimacy and allergy to irl emotionally-charged conversations that makes writing Juno/Peter so hard and yet so relatable, feel free to track me down on tumblr @frostandcrow.


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